The Life I Chose
by moon-majik
Summary: "Some second son of a minor noble, tucked away in the south of the country.His father wrote his letter of recommendation, so he is either a hopeless dolt who has been sent away in a last hope that we can make something of him, or he is as good as has been claimed"
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This popped into my head at work today and I just had to start writing it down to make room in my mind for other things. I have it in my head that this whole story would take place over one episode, but we will see how we go! I know the ending but there is always scope for the ending to not be the ending, if you catch my drift. Please do let me know what you think, and I apologise in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes. It is midnight, and I wanted to get this posted before going to sleep as I have a busy few days before the weekend.

This is a story about a young musketeer and the relationship between that musketeer and our four favourites. I promise a lovely little twist in the later few chapters.

Thanks very much in advance for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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Captain Treville looked across his desk at the boy standing before him. The letter open on the desk declared that this was Leon Joubert, the second son of Nicolas Joubert, a minor nobleman from the southern parts of the country. The boy, for he looked no older than fourteen, did not at all look like Treville's idea of a second son of the nobility. His clothes did not fit properly; they were too loose all over his body, a practical way of ensuring money was not wasted on clothes for growing boys, but one Treville assumed the nobility did not have to consider. His hair was a mess and looked as though he had cut it himself, which was of course entirely possible. The auburn locks hung just past his chin in a ragged, uneven pattern, as if he had just grabbed chunks of it and sawn it off using a blunt sword. There was no trace of facial hair on his cheeks or chin, his features looked entirely too feminine to support any such growth. His skin was of a complexion that any noble girl would envy and his eyes were large, the green flashing in the candle light as he stared almost defiantly back at the captain. The only part of the boy that betrayed any intent to join the military was the well looked after sword at his waist, and the pistol tucked into it's holster.

"Leon Joubert."

"Yes sir." The boys voice had not yet broken, but his mouth was set in a determined line as he faced the captain of the King's Guard.

"How old are you boy?"

"Eighteen sir." Treville narrowed his eyes and was silent for a moment.

"Yes, so it says here." He bent his head to consult the letter. "You don't look older than fifteen to me. I wont be responsible for children."

"I have my birth certificate Captain Treville. My father thought you might not believe him, so he insisted I bring it with me." He rustled in his pocket and produced a folded piece of paper, which is proceeded to hand to Treville. Up close, Treville realised that the boy's hand was shaking, the only external sign of the nerves he was feeling at this first meeting. Treville pursed his lips as he examined the certificate. "I know I'm small for my age sir. I was born a twin." A wry smile flitted onto the boy's face, lighting his features up. "My sister is even smaller than me."

"You have to be strong to be a musketeer. You have to be able to fight. Do you think you can boy?"

"I know I can sir."

"Hmm." Treville looked down at the letter of recommendation again, giving away nothing of his thoughts. "We don't usually take letter's of recommendation from fathers. I find parents to be either far too critical of their children's abilities, or far too boasting. I would have preferred a letter from an Uncle. Or a family friend."

"My father has no family, sir, and my mother's brothers are all dead. My father is not one to boast about skills that his children do not have, whatever he has written in his letter to you should be a fair assessment of my abilities." Leon sounded comfortably sure of himself, leading Treville to assume that he knew none of the contents of the letter.

"A fair assessment, you say? Boy, your father declares that you are the finest swordsman in the whole of France." A rush of red appeared on Leon's cheeks that would have been endearing in a girl but just made Treville uncomfortable for the lad. He would have taken the blush for embarrassment and shock at the claim if he had not also seen a spark of pride and love in Leon's eyes. Perhaps the boy did believe his father would never give praise where it wasn't due. "Well? What say you? Is this a fair assessment of your skill?" Leon paused for just a second, before looking up to meet Treville's eyes.

"Yes Captain Treville. It is." Normally, such arrogance would have irritated the captain and the new recruit would have been angrily sent from his presence. He had enough arrogance to deal with from his trained musketeers, men who actually deserved to call themselves the best in the land. But the earnest honesty with which the lad had spoken caught his attention before the irritation had had a chance to set in and he suddenly felt the need to find out if there was any truth to the claim. Forcing him to prove it would have the added bonus of bringing him down a few pegs when it was discovered his claim was false. He stood suddenly.

"Then you will not mind proving it to me." He said as he stepped from behind his desk and gestured to the door.

"Now?" There was a sudden slip in his composure as Captain Treville walked past him and ushered him through the door. "Um.. Yes sir." He found he had no choice as he was swept along the corridor to the stairs leading down into the main courtyard that acted as a mess hall, training grounds and social gathering place for the musketeers. Small groups of men could be seen, drinking and eating around the yard, all dressed in the dark uniforms of the musketeers, wide brimmed hats on their heads, and beards trimmed impeccably. The atmosphere was amicable; all the men obviously knew each other and regarded each other with at least a form of respect. At the foot of the stairs, two dark haired men sparred with each other and leaning on the stairs railing two others watched. One of the watchers occasionally called out instruction to the younger of the two sparring, commanding him to watch his footwork and berating him for his stance.

"Aramis, put some effort into it." He scowled. "He is never going to learn if you keep going easy on him." The bearded man grinned over at the scowling man, ducking under a sword swing from his partner.

"I notice that you're leaving all the strenuous work to me today." He turned back to his assault on the boy with renewed vigor, quickly beating him back a few steps and forcing him to dodge a thrust.

"Well you should have arrived on time this morning." The retort came back fast and the dark skinned man also standing on the stairs let out a loud laugh. Before the fighter could reply, Captain Treville stepped forward. Both men on the stairs stood a little straighter, and greeted their Captain with respect. The man called Aramis took one last lunge at his training partner, who dodged out the way again and then over balanced, which caused Aramis to let out a whoop of laughter as he held out his hand to pull the annoyed man to his feet.

"Good morning Captain." He nodded his head as he sheathed his sword, and Treville nodded back, but addressed the man on the stairs.

"Athos." The lighter skinned man raised an eyebrow.

"Yes Captain?"

"This is Leon Joubert." Athos' eyes flickered from the captain to the boy at his side, his trademark sullen scowl on his face. "He claims to be the finest swordsman in the whole of France." The scowl on Athos' face changed to something almost like curiosity as he regarded Leon with a little more interest than a passing glance. Clearly unimpressed by the boy's physical appearance, he turned back to Treville, the question evident in his face. "Since he claims to be such a master of the art," the captain tried to keep most of the mocking tone from his voice but was unable to void it all, "I thought he should prove it by fighting the man I consider to be the finest swordsman in France." Treville provoking new candidates to prove their claimed skills before considering them for musketeer training was nothing new and Athos nodded once, both accepting the praise his captain had placed upon him and the challenge in one motion. Usually even those new candidates with some skill with the blade found they could not hope to compete with a trained musketeer in a fight, and the battles were over as quickly as they had begun. As the captain pushed Leon forward, Athos drew his sword and jumped down from the stairs. Aramis and his training partner took his place, Aramis grinning in anticipation of the sport about to take place.

"Who is he? Doesn't look old enough to be here! Even D'Artagnan looks older than him!" He jostled his friend good naturedly as the young man scowled at him, before turning his attention to the two about to spar.

"Some second son of a minor noble, tucked away in the south of the country." Treville answered the question. "His father wrote his letter of recommendation, so he is either a hopeless dolt who has been sent away in a last hope that we can make something of him, or he is as good as has been claimed."

"My money is on the first one." Porthos muttered as Athos and Leon raised their blades to begin the fight. "He is small enough for Athos to eat for breakfast." It seemed their friend had heard that remark, as he sent Porthos a look that, for Athos, passed as amused. Leon took advantage of the slight detour in Athos' attention to rush in for the first attack.

The speed of the young man took Athos by surprise, and although he easily parried the rough attack, he was astonished at the strength behind the blade. The first thing the experienced swordsman noticed, as he studied Leon properly, was that his opponent carried a blade that was too large for him. Assuming that this would make his opponent clumsy, he led the next attack. While Leon travelled backwards under the force of the attack, Athos received the distinct impression that the boy had allowed him to gain the upper hand, and was astonished as he ducked under a swing. Athos only just managed to turn in time to block his next thrust of the sword. The fight seemed to be matched relatively equally. The fighting style of the two were different, Athos had height and weight as an advantage but it had quickly became obvious that Leon was aware of his weaknesses and had had plenty of practice in how to use them to his advantages.

"I do believe he may just win this." Captain Treville murmured to Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan as they watched the battle unfold with more ferocity as the two fighters showed no sign of either being able to beat the other. Aramis and Porthos glared at the captain with barely disguised disgust that he could even fathom such a thing, both protesting at the same time, pointing out that even if their skill was almost equal, Athos' stamina would outlast the small noble lad that fought him. The fight had attracted the attention of the rest of the musketeers, and a small crowed had gathered around the pair. Bets were being taken, most of them on Athos as his reputation as a skilled fighter was well known, cheers and jeers rang through the crowd, but neither man heard them. As they swung and thrust and parried each other's attacks, nothing existed in their little world except the two of them.

Athos was enjoying the challenge of the fight rather more than he had enjoyed anything in a long time. The only man who had come close to matching his skill for a while had been D'Artagnan, when he had charged into the musketeer headquarters and demanded to fight him. That encounter had been somewhat enjoyable, but Athos had soon managed to beat him, taking his weapon from him and trying to send him on his way. Aramis and Porthos had gotten attached to the boy and then he had been an instrumental part of the rescue and somehow, he had become a good friend. His current opponent showed a good deal more understanding of swordplay than D'Artagnan had, and had come damn close to beating him more than a few times already during their duel. Athos felt challenged, and couldn't help the small smile that slipped onto his face as the fight continued. The boy was skilled and Athos could see that his father had not exaggerated. While there was little strength in his body, the speed that he could reach provided all the weight behind his attacks, and he was flexible and limber in a way that Athos could never hope to be. The too-long sword, that Athos had originally thought would hinder him, seemed to be an extension of his own arm and moved with the same fluid grace that he did. The only weakness that he did not know how to use seemed to be his stamina, and Athos knew that with training, that would no longer be a problem. His musings were disturbed by the clash of their swords meeting above their heads and suddenly he found himself face to face with the boy. His hair fell in his eyes as he strained to keep the sword above his head, his cheekbones sharp and defined in his face. With a shove, Athos pushed him from him, and Leon stumbled backwards, surprised by the move. A cheer went up from the crowd as they watched Leon fall, and Athos step forward to hold his sword at the boy's chest. As he stepped close, Leon's legs swiped at his, and he found himself falling too. Quick as a flash, Leon was standing again, his sword pressed gently against Athos' chest. A brief moment of silence passed and then Athos grinned up at the victor, lifting his arm in a request for aid. Leon reached down and pulled the musketeer up to standing, his sword loose in the other arm.

"You have some skill." Athos flashed him a rare smile as he gripped his arm. "I haven't enjoyed a fight as much as I enjoyed that one in a long time. When we fight again the outcome will be different." Before Leon could reply, Captain Treville stepped up, clapping his hand on Leon's shoulder. If it wasn't for Athos' steady grip on his arm, the young boy might have collapsed underneath the Captain's congratulations. He was obviously exhausted from the fight, whereas Athos was merely breathing a little harder than normal.

"Well, Master Joubert, you have certainly proven yourself. Who taught you to fight?"

"My brother sir." Leon gasped out, struggling to talk as he tried to fill his lungs with air to recover.

"I do believe I shall have to take your letter of recommendation seriously now." The captain continued, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "Leon Joubert, I accept your application to join the musketeers. Athos, the boy is your responsibility now. See that he is trained properly." And with that, the captain turned and marched back up the stairs into the cool of his office, leaving Leon and four of his most trusted men standing in the courtyard staring after him.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I do apologise for not having updated this in a while. I have known exactly where i want to take this story and what is going to happen next since before I started it, but for some reason this chapter wouldn't flow at all. I think I have it to a place where I'm happy but it does still kind of feel like a filler chapter. Hopefully it sets some of the scene for you. My long shift pattern is over for 5 weeks now, so hopefully it will not be as long before the next update! I already have most of it written and it will start to get more exciting!

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Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan stared at Leon in open astonishment at his feat: Treville had not been exaggerating when he called Athos the best swordsman in the land. Neither, it seemed, had this young lad's father. The boy stared back with a somewhat nervous expression on his face, his muscles still quivering from the exertion of the fight. Athos' hand was still gripping Leon's forearm and Aramis quickly became aware that their friend, as well as perhaps a tiny bit of pride, was the only thing preventing their new recruit from sinking to the ground.

"Well, that was quite enough excitement for the morning, do you not think?" He spoke cheerfully, clapping his hand onto D'Artagnan's shoulder. "It's definitely lunch time. Shall we go to the tavern? We have to celebrate Athos' first defeat." The man in question sent him a disproving glare and Porthos had to smother a smirk. "You fight well with a sword boy. Could do with a hair cut though." He reached out and ruffled the rough locks of hair on the boy's head, pulling a face. "Or maybe a hat."

"And a new sword. That one is far too long for you." Athos commentated, trying to put an end to Aramis' teasing and lifting his hand from Leon's arm when he was sure the boy could stand on his own two feet. "I assume it was not bought specifically for you?" Leon gave a small shake of his head.

"It was my brothers."

"We'll get you some weapons from the regiment armory." Porthos said slowly. "You'll need more than just a sword and a pistol anyway. But Aramis is right, it is time for lunch. D'Artagnan?"

"I said I would take my lunch with Constance today." D'Artagnan said hurriedly. "Her husband is away – Aramis!" D'Artagnan sharply scolded the older man for the expression on his face. "Constance – Madam Bonasaire - is a married woman and my landlady – and – " The other musketeers laughed as Aramis shrugged his shoulders.

"Wouldn't stop me."

"And that, my friend, is your biggest problem." Porthos chuckled, elbowing his friend in the side. Aramis turned to retaliate but was cut off by their morose leader.

"We will see you later then D'Artagnan." Athos nodded to the boy who was gone in a flash.

"Do you think he will tell us when something does happen between them?" Aramis turned his gaze to Porthos with an amused and eager glint to his eyes.

"Not if you continue to tease him every time he mentions her name." Athos scolded. "Didn't someone mention the tavern?" The three moved off as one unit, leaving their new charge standing in the courtyard, unsure if the invitation for food included him. At the gates to the musketeer's compound Aramis turned and gave him an odd luck.

"Are you not hungry?"

Athos, Porthos and Leon sat around a small table in the dark room of the tavern, a relatively easy silence falling as they waited for Aramis to return with their lunch.

"We could have eaten in the regiment mess." Porthos leaned forward to speak to Leon as Aramis appeared, carrying four bottles and balancing four bowls in his arms. "But the regular chef, Serge, has been ill for a few weeks and the food hasn't been quite up to scratch. Plus, with Aramis around, we can eat and drink for free in here. That is, until he gets caught out, and then we will have find somewhere else." Aramis dropped the bowl of stew in front of Leon, grinning as he distributed bottles.

"There is nothing quite like the lips of a barmaid to warm these cold Parisian afternoons."

"It's the middle of summer." Athos dryly pointed out as he uncorked his bottle and downed almost half of the sweet smelling wine. "I suppose there is no point in telling you to be careful?" Aramis smirked at him and Athos nodded in a resigned way, quickly drinking the rest of the bottle. The men busied themselves eating, and before long Athos had disappeared to the bar, offering to buy a round of drinks. Aramis and Porthos declined, and Leon took their lead, watching as the two watched Athos go with looks of long suffering patience at their friend.

"We should never let him drink at lunch time." Aramis said pensively. "It never ends well." There was a short silence before Aramis turned to Leon. "Is this your first time to Paris Leon?" The boy seemed startled at the change of subject. He opened his mouth to reply, and then seemed to think better of it, opting to nod instead.

"Where are you from?"

"Forgive Aramis." Athos sat back down at the table, another bottle in his hand. "He has the annoying trait of asking too many questions."

"Just because you are an un-talkative bastard doesn't mean everyone is." Aramis retorted pleasantly. "Some of us like our friends to know some things about us. Who taught you to fight?" Once again the swift change of subject seemed to startle Leon and it was a while before he answered.

"My brother." Aramis raised an eyebrow.

"Who taught your brother?" Atho's voice was low over his bottle, curiosity evident in his eyes. "You're technique was good and you understand how to use your strengths and weaknesses in your own favour, but your stamina could improve. A lot."

"Don't mind him." Porthos grinned. "No one has ever beaten Athos before. He's touchy about it" He smirked at Athos who rolled his eyes, "You did pretty well boy."

"My brother and I were taught by Monsieur le Pellier." Athos raised his eyebrow and nodded once but Aramis and Porthos both looked blank at Leon's words. Athos' raised eyebrow turned into an eye roll at his friend's blank faces.

"Francoise le Pellier is a swords master, employed by the rich to teach their sons. He is…" Athos searched for the right word. "Average." Leon laughed, the loudest noise they had heard the boy make since knowing him and all three of them looked at him in surprise.

"Monsieur le Pellier is a fraud." Leon smirked. "He couldn't teach a cow to moo. My uncle taught my brother before he died. When Monsieur le Pellier arrived to continue our education, we soon realised he would not be able to teach us. So Jacques, that's my brother, " he added in explanation, "taught me as best he could."

"Athos, there are two of them out there who could beat you." Porthos teased in his deep voice and once again, their friend turned his disproving stare on the taller man. Draining his second bottle of wine, he firmly placed the bottle on the table.

"I believe we have things to be getting on with." He stood. "Aramis, Porthos. Find D'Artagnan. We still need to talk to the palace guards to determine the amount of assistance they need for the royal visit, and there's that small matter of the missing red guards Treville wants us to look into. Can you handle that?"

"What are you going to do?" Both Aramis and Porthos had stood, pulling their hats back onto their heads.

"I believe Treville made Joubert my responsibility." Athos looked less than thrilled at the prospect and under his glare Leon stood hurriedly, his chair scraping on the floor. "Therefore we will spend the afternoon ensuring that he has everything he needs to begin training tomorrow." Aramis and Porthos nodded, Aramis gripping Athos' arm in farewell before both leaving the tavern. Aramis noisily bidding farewell to the young bar maid, they both clattered out onto the street. Athos watched them go with an odd look on his face, one that could have past for fondness.

For Athos, the afternoon had passed in quiet companionship as he showed Leon around Paris, ensuring that the boy know where to report to and when to report there, equipping him with the weapons he would need and ensuring he owned the correct uniform. The boy was quiet, which suited Athos, rarely speaking unless asked a direct question, or asking a question of his own. While the musketeer enjoyed the rambunctiousness of his three friends, sometimes the noise got a little hard to endure. It was those moments when he could be found in the corner of their tavern, drinking by himself. The musketeer had found himself almost enjoying the unassuming silence of the young new recruit.

"That's everything." Athos finished his tour of Paris at the tavern they had started it at. "Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan should be back soon as well. Let's get a drink and I will fill you in on our current assignments. You'll be expected to help us as well as keep up your training."

"Who will train me?" Leon asked a rare question, tilting his head at the taller musketeer as Athos led the way back into the dark tavern. It was quieter than it had been earlier that day, most of the tables unoccupied. Athos knew that would change as the night wore on.

"We will, mostly. You should be able to learn all you need to know from the four of us." They sat down at a table and Athos signaled for two drinks. "Treville might assign you to another unit once or twice, it's good to learn from as many people as possible. If your shooting is anything like your sword work then you'll have the makings of a great musketeer." Leon glanced down at the table, a hint of a blush appearing on his cheeks at what he imagined must have been high praise from Athos. Before he could reply, Porthos, Aramis and D'Artagnan burst into the tavern, clattering down the steps and noisily calling for drinks as they sat down at their table. The talk turned away from duty and to more amenable topics as the drink began to flow.

Aramis left the tavern first, his steps steady as he bade farewell to his comrades, striding out of the door and making for the home of his most recent conquest. D'Artagnan followed soon after, insisting that he had to be back at his lodgings at a decent hour. Porthos, Athos and Leon remained; Porthos playing a dice game with a loudly complaining red guard. Athos had taken himself to a table in the corner a few hours before, where he sat steadily drinking bottle after bottle of wine. Leon sat at the table with Porthos, watching quietly as the musketeer cheated his way through several rounds of the game. His opponent, who was possibly drunker than Athos, kept insisting on round after round, sure that he would make his money back again and again.

"You are cheating!" The explosion, when it came, was not entirely unexpected. The Red Guard upturned the table, spilling the dice game and the drinks all over the floor. Leon and Porthos dived out of the way, narrowly avoiding being pinned underneath the table. As they clambered, both a little unsteady, to their feet, Porthos found himself looking down the blade of a sword. Raising his hands to indicate his lack of a sword, he gazed levelly at his opponent.

"Sir, I resent your implications." There was a hint of amusement in Porthos' voice. "I am a musketeer, I have nothing if not my honour."

"You are a cheat!" The Red Guard shouted again, stepping forward and touching his sword to Porthos' chest. There was a steady click of a pistol being readied to shoot, and both men looked around to see the newest musketeer recruit standing with her pistol aimed at the Red Guard's head. Over at his table, Athos raised his head in interest at the new development. Porthos getting threatened for cheating was a nightly occurrence and nothing to write home about. The presence of their new musketeer was an unknown factor. Athos took his own pistol out of its holster in preparation.

"I suggest you lower your sword sir." Leon's voice was steady. There was a moment's pause and then the Red Guard did as suggested, his eyes narrowed.

"The Cardinal will hear of this." He threatened.

"I'm quaking in my boots." Porthos deadpanned as the Red Guard withdrew, slinking out of the bar.

"You shouldn't taunt them." Athos chided as he tried to stand. The alcohol got the better of him as he stood, and he staggered, crumpling to the floor. Porthos caught his friend and sighed. Catching the eye of the barmaid, who was standing to one side with her arms folded across her chest and a stern look in her eye.

"Alright Marie, we are going." He insisted. "Here, Joubert. Put that away and help me with this lout." The boy stowed the pistol still in his hands and hurried over, and together, the three musketeer's staggered from the tavern.


End file.
